


The Mad Prince and the Dragonwolf

by NeverAgainEvan



Series: Different Roads Sometimes Lead to the Same Castle [7]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Rhaegar Won, F/M, Redemption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-14 09:20:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21013424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverAgainEvan/pseuds/NeverAgainEvan
Summary: Viserys sits at the dais at Jon's wedding and thinks of how Jon and he met, and how that led to where they are now.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is not the Jon Snow/Mya Stone story I promised, a snippet you could say, but this is a completely different universe. 
> 
> This is not serious, I just wanted to write Viserys without him being mad.

He forced a tear to go back into his eye with all his will and failed. He wouldn’t cry. Never would he cry, especially here in the home of the almost Usurper. No tears. He was a knight of the Seven Kingdoms, the Blood of the Dragon, a Prince of the Realm. Tears were for lesser man, definitely not for Prince Viserys.

But even the ‘Mad Prince’ had to realize it was a losing battle for him. It was a beautiful day and an extravagant ceremony for a wedding. Storm’s End had been turned into a feast with how ostentatious the decorations were. Black and red drapes and curtains and tablecloths of fine raiment that must have cost Lord Stannis and King Rhaegar a fortune decorated every wall, table, and window. On the tightly mortared walls of the great hall tapestries blew in the draft of the few windows Storm’s End had to offer. By the end of the night half the tablecloths would be ruined, and the draping and curtains might have wine stains, and the tapestries will be tarnished by smoke, the colors will dim as they’ve dimmed for centuries. _If anything, these Stormlanders know how to drink and feast,_ Viserys thought with a smile. A true smile, not his old, cruel ones.

To keep the tears at bay he had turned his head from the floor of the great hall of Storm’s End to look upon the tapestries of long-dead Baratheons and Durrandons. The tapestries depicted a myriad of events, Elenei and Durran in the Last Storm, numerous Durrandon kings wars, Orys killing Argilac, and Lyonel against Ser Duncan.They had put up half the trestle tables to make room for dancing. And the newly married couple were the first onto the floor. Only when he trusted himself not to cry, then did Viserys turn his head back in the direction of his nephew and his wife dancing.

Jon, as he preferred to be called, twirled his wife and pulled her close with a flourish. She blushed and tried to get away, but he kept chasing her in the dance. Their laughs rang through the piss poor singer’s shrill voice.

Mya, the bastard child of the former rebel lord Robert Baratheon was never Viserys first choice for his favorite nephew. He had preferred Margaery Tyrell, or the sisters of his friend Daven Lannister. Viserys and Jon weren’t strangers to them either. When Viserys was first knighted, inspired by Ser Duncan the Tall, he took Jon with him on a tour of the Seven Kingdoms to teach the boy what it meant to be a prince and knight of the Seven Kingdoms.

For over half a decade, nigh on seven years, they had traveled from the furthest reaches of human settlement at Hardhome down to the most unwelcome place in Westeros, the deep southern sands of Dorne. A day Viserys would never forget. The heat, the snakes, lack of water. Taking reluctant help from the mad Ullers. Coming from him, they were madder than his father, maybe, maybe not.

All the people, _all the women_, we met, and his nephew choose the daughter of a former traitor, a bastard at that. _Well a legitimized bastard_. A lowborn person who when they first met years ago, covered in mud and donkey and horse shit, playing in the stables, hair cut too short, and she was skinny as a stick. Jon took one look at her at ten namedays old and bright-eyed and fell in love instantly. She was a person who could dilute the blood of the dragon even further, in his opinion. He argued this fact to Rhaegar and Jon, but both turned him down. Rhaegar wanted to foster more relations, and Jon was deeply in love. Myaline (Mya Stone) Baratheon was Jaehaerys (Jon Snow) Targaryen's love of his life, and he loved her without any preamble. Defended her in court, fought for her honor more than twice (many a man had fallen injured or dead at the hand of Dark Sister for talking about Mya), gave her gifts even when she threw them away, for she cared for love not tokens of affection.

Though Viserys did see the iron and gold chain around her neck glint in every movement. That chain had cost Jon five _golden_ dragons, he gave it to her when he was fourteen and she sixteen for he had no money. The only time when he had seen the Baratheon bastard cry.

Once the dancing was over, Mya and Jon came back to the dais. “Jon,” he called.

“Uncle,” the boy smiled wide and happy. “Enjoying yourself?” He pulled his wife’s chair out and let her sit before pushing it in. He took the seat between her and Viserys.

“As much as one can being away from home and his wife and children.” He smiled though. Whatever his reservations on Jon and Mya marrying, he loved his nephew. Without Jon in his life he feared for the state he would be in.

“Sansa is fine I’m sure Vis.” He mocked. “She is probably glad you are gone, dancing in joy without good ole Uncle Vissy breathing down her neck.”

Viserys laughed, for he was very attached to his wife’s hips. He was in love he knew, and everyone else knew. “You and I know very different Sansas.” He laughed. “She wanted to be here. She hates missing revelries, you know that.”

“I know,” his face took on a serious note then. “Me and Mya would like to thank you for being here uncle. Thank you for everything.”

“Truly, your highness, without you none of this would be true,” Mya said in her Vale accent.

Viserys blushed, “This was all yourselves. I just trained Jon.” Jon placed a large, rough hand on Viserys' shoulder and squeezed in affection. The ‘Mad Prince’ felt loved and welcomed in a way reminiscent of Sansa's love but wholly different. As he watched their smiles turn from him to whisper lovingly in each other’s ears he remembered meeting the boy Jon and not the babe.

…

Viserys forced a fake smile as his nephew ran over to him. He didn’t hate the boy, he barely knew the boy, Viserys had been away for years squiring, but he was granted a week to return home and be with family. He expected his mother to welcome him home with kisses and hugs, baby Dany to run to him, Rhaegar’s hand on his shoulder, and Elia with a warm smile. With Aegon and Rhaenys asking him questions right behind them.

Only that was a dream of a green boy. That dream was what he wanted.

Not, the _bastard_ and Ser Barristan behind him the only people to receive him as he returns home. He wanted to rage and break something. He gnashed his teeth in the disrespect he was being shown. _I am a prince of the Blood! _His ‘bastard’ nephew was also of the Blood, but he had none of the markers of it. His hair was a lackluster brown, his eyes a dark grey. Though Viserys had to admit his face was very similar to Rhaegar’s own.

“Uncle,” his shrilly boy voice crossed the bailey to irritate Viserys’s ears. “Uncle Vitherys!”

Viserys cringed at the boy of six butchering his name. Viserys dropped his saddle bag on to the muddy bailey ground. If this is his punishment, then Viserys will take it. Take it with reluctance, though a voice inside whispered to show the boy the dragon. _He dared to butcher thy name_. That was punishable by death.

As he rose from setting his saddle bag down a blur launched into his arms. Viserys had no time to react before he was toppled over. He fell with a great “oof.” Falling hard on the dagger sheathed upon his hip. He rolled awkwardly to ease the dagger’s point in his back.

“Vitherys!” Jaehaerys’ face was inches from his own. “I missed you!”

_He missed me_, Viserys thought with a strange feeling in his chest. He was three when Viserys had first left, Viserys actually doubted he missed him. The thought did feel good though. He lifted the boy off him with no trouble, he may be six, but he had a lean figure, and Viserys had been eating good hardy meat up north. “Hello, boy.” He greeted in his usual venomous manner.

Though Jaehaerys kept on, he noticed the tone of Viserys’s voice, but he either didn’t care or was used to it. “Tell me everything! How was the North? Was Winterfell beautiful? Did my uncle teach you how to fight? How is Robb? Are you knighted yet? Where’s your sword?” Viserys realized he still held the boy in the air, as Jaehaerys’ legs kicked with every question. Small throbs into Viserys’s chest.

He set him down with no flourish, and he fell on his behind. “You ask to many questions bast-, Jae.”

The boy smiled though, “When do you leave again?”

Viserys’s heart stopped. His hand clenched. He felt the unnerving rage to slap the boy. _Am I being sent away again_? Viserys wanted to run someone through with his dagger. Viserys breathed through his nose, and relaxed. Ser Rodrik and Lord Stark had worked him through this. Using old warrior tactics to control bloodlust and battle rage.

If it doesn’t calm in four long and deep breaths run. Run from the situation Lord Stark had said once with a hand on a shoulder and a worried look in his eye. Viserys began to respond when the child’s attention was torn.

“Jon,” he said.

Confused he had only one response. “What?”

Jaehaerys smiled. “You said Jae. Only Elia says Jae! And she kisses me when she says it, eww. Egg and Uncle Ned and Robb, papa, and everyone calls me Jon! Call me Jon!”

The Prince smiled despite himself, “Then pronounce my name right.”

“Did I say it wrong?” The small face scrunched up in thought. “Vitherys. Vicaerys. Fidaerys.”

Barristan laughed as Jon tried to pronounce Viserys name. And Viserys couldn’t help but to chuckle. “Stop…” He tried to say but then he was laughing. “Stop… stop I can’t breathe… Are you trying to turn me to stone using some lost magic?”

The boy pouted in mock anger. “I’m trying!”

Viserys knelt to be the same height as him. And put his hands on the boy’s shoulders as Ned Stark did when he first took him into his household as his squire. “It’s fine, Jon. You are trying.” Viserys tried the words of encouragement he would receive from Ned Stark on his own tongue. He saw Barristan’s look of surprise. “You’re young, I’ll let only you say this. Only one person calls me this and they’re younger than you.”

“Who is it? What is it?”

“Your cousin Sansa calls me Vis, or Vissy. Can you say that?”

“Fis, Fissy! No, it’s not right Vis.” There was a pause as Viserys, and Barristan smiled at Jon’s antics. Jon smiled once he realized he said it. “I said it, Vis! I said it!”

“You did,” and for some reason Viserys knew from that day on he would be the uncle this boy needed.


	2. The Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vis and Jon have a spar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this AU, Vis and Jae are the new Dunk and Egg.

“Good! Again!” Viserys encouraged as the dark-haired boy of ten tried to strike him down with a wooden training sword. The boy charged again and every time he was swatted back by his uncle. 

His uncle was not the tallest man, but he had grown broad shouldered and well built during his squiring and warding in Winterfell under Ned Stark. Whereas Jon was a slight boy of normal height for his age, but he had long arms denoting he would grow tall and strong. But he still could not pierce Viserys’s defenses. 

He slashed at Viserys’s waist but was swatted back again. Another slash at his thigh thrown back, followed by a vicious two-handed attack on Viserys’s left hand side. Jon rained blow after blow on Viserys’s unguarded left. _He was a smart boy, but still not that smart_. He turned his whole body to parry and force his nephew back. The wooden swords clanked together, and Viserys threw his whole weight into this clash. 

Too late he realized what his nephew had done. One hand on the sword for the last strike had lowered the strength of the blow and kept him light on his feet allowing him to absorb the force of Viserys's parry. Jon pivoted to one foot and naturally launched a pirouette into Viserys’s now unguarded right side. 

The slash powered by his own strength cut across his collarbone with a loud crash. Viserys reeled back in surprise, mouth agape, hand soothing his chest. Jon was cheering and jumping in place, proud of beating his uncle in combat. But was happier to have beaten his father’s one rule for their deal. 

Clapping and cheering from the balcony of a tower took him out his astonishment. The king and queen were watching with the other prince and princesses. Aegon was cheering for Jon and jeering at his uncle. Rhaenys and Daenerys were more subdued but just as happy for Jon. 

While stunned, and slightly bitter he had lost the deal, he couldn’t help but be happy for his nephew. A natural swordsman Jaehaerys Targaryen was, and in time with training and experience he could become another Dragonknight. 

“Vis,” his nephew called, he was done dancing, but was showering in the praise from his siblings and aunt. “Are you going to follow your word? Am I going to be your squire now?” 

As much as Viserys wanted to say no. He just could not. Not when those eyes, those grey eyes, so like Lord Stark, so like Sansa, beamed at him. It was dangerous, two princes on the road travelling alone. Viserys wanted to atone for his sins himself, but to bring Jon along was cruel. 

“It’s a long road to redemption Jon. It won't be pretty. Hedges will be our beds and food will be scarce and not as appealing as court food. My mistakes shan’t be yours as well nephew.” 

The boy fumed instantly, the only thing he received from the Targaryen's. The boy had enough anger and power to overwhelm trained knights, Viserys had seen it before in the yard. Now it was directed at his uncle, “Who cares what some prissy lords and knights think, we're _dragons_. You fought well enough, and he provoked you into it! It is -” 

Viserys held up a hand, “There was no honor in his death, Jon. I know you think the world is a great place, but I have dishonored myself. I have killed one of my brother’s lord’s heir. His only heir, that stain will come with me till I die. You don’t have to bear that weight Jon.” 

Jon glanced at their family. Solemn and contemplative. Then Rhaegar nodded at his son to continue. The boy calmed himself then, he smirked. “You lost, so it doesn’t matter, your shame is my shame. Rosby’s son had it coming calling us mad. You defended our honor, and he died for it. But a deal is a deal and I won.” 

Vis frowned but had no choice but to ruffle Jon’s hair. “We leave at dawn in two days,” Jon began to argue but Viserys clotted him on the head. “Speak back again and you get another. You’re my squire now.” Despite the pain a solemn smile crossed his nephews face. “Dorne and Sunspear can’t wait long for their new man at arms forever.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know the deal, kudos and comments help me write faster!

**Author's Note:**

> You know the deal, kudos and comments are appreciated, they really help me write faster!


End file.
